


Dreams and Thereafter

by dragonspell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Biting, Bottom Derek Hale, Double Penetration, Insecure Derek Hale, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Scott McCall, Top Stiles Stilinski, Versatile Scott McCall, Versatile Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4359755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek’s kneeling stark naked on the bed, his back to Stiles so Stiles can see all the hard, cut lines of muscle, the swirl of his tattoo as it flexes and bends, the soft swell of his ass, down to where his legs stretch out across the burgundy sheets pointing back at Stiles.  He’s also got his head tossed back, eyes closed and mouth wide open as he pants because Scott’s balls deep inside of him and Derek loves getting fucked.  <i>Loves it</i>.   “You’re doing so well, Princess,” Stiles says, his voice low and warm.  Derek shudders as Stiles skims his hand lightly over Derek’s back.</p><p>Or a Scott/Stiles/Derek threesome where Scott and Stiles double-team Derek and sometimes call him Princess.  It's porn.  It's definitely porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams and Thereafter

**Author's Note:**

> There is some rough sex mentioned, but all consensual.
> 
> Anonymous commenting has been turned off. Sorry.

Stiles loves this. There is no other place that he’d like to be, because right now? He’d happily stay here for the rest of his life.

Stiles can honestly say that he’s never been in a place that has made him feel so flat-out _rich_. The room, the entire hotel—from what little he saw of it last night—just seems to ooze money. The shower wasn’t so much a tub as it was a Jacuzzi and spa and he’d half expected the toilet to be made out of solid gold. Stiles smiles into his coffee. Actually, it probably would have been cheaper for the toilet to have been made out of solid gold instead of having all the bells and whistles that it does. The thing was probably more high tech than his phone.

There’s also the windows that change scenery depending on your mood, a TV that pretends that it’s a wall and a bed the size of Rhode Island that dominates the bedroom part of the suite. And there’s another thing: Stiles has never stayed in a hotel room that had multiple partitions before. He takes a sip of his coffee, savors the taste before he swallows it down. It’s rich like everything else in the place and it stays with him, makes him want another. He’s greedy for it, like a junkie looking for a score, which isn’t too far off the mark. The coffee’s like the shower which is like the TV, the windows, the bed—something that Stiles had once thought only existed in the movies.

Of course, it’s all just scenery for the floor show. Bed show. Whatever.

See, Derek’s kneeling stark naked on the bed, his back to Stiles so Stiles can see all the hard, cut lines of muscle, the swirl of his tattoo as it flexes and bends, the soft swell of his ass, down to where his legs stretch out across the burgundy sheets pointing back at Stiles. He’s also got his head tossed back, eyes closed and mouth wide open as he pants because Scott’s balls deep inside of him and Derek loves getting fucked. _Loves it_. His hands are pressing down on Scott’s stomach, keeping Scott flat on the bed and making sure that Scott can’t do anything but stay put and thrust because Derek’s a slut for cock. In the morning, he’ll crawl up onto whatever dick’s available because he wants something inside of him so bad. Stiles has woken up more than a few times to a blow job or Derek sliding himself down. Best way to wake up as far as Stiles is concerned. Other times he wakes up with the bed rocking beneath him and finds Scott and Derek going at it.

Today, he’d woken up on his own in the bed that Scott and Derek and him had spent the night “scenting” _(werewolves)_ , blinking at the light haze of sun filtering in through the drapes while Scott snored gently on the other side of Derek. Stiles had untangled himself from the pile of limbs and stumbled to his feet, the vague thought of making coffee floating through his mind. He’d been stopped momentarily by Derek’s fingers reaching around his wrist, protesting his leaving, and Derek’s pretty eyes fluttering open. Stiles had thought about how easy it would have been to simply fall back into bed, how tempting. He could wake Derek fully with little teasing touches, done the same with Scott… Then Derek had flipped himself over and cuddled into Scott, evidently deciding that if Stiles was going to leave the warm bed, he was going it alone. Cold. Stiles had staggered into the kitchen part of the suite and fumbled around with the mugs and the expensive grounds while Scott and Derek slept on. 

‘Course, there was that cock addiction. If Stiles had been more awake, he might have thought to time it. As it was, there were only a few minutes between him leaving and Scott’s sleepy mumble, Derek’s response, and the rustle of sheets. “Yeah…” Scott had groaned, already waking up because he was always up for morning sex. Stiles had smiled and walked back in with his coffee to enjoy the show because watching Derek and Scott was like watching art being made. They’re beautiful.

Scott’s currently gasping broken little words of encouragement in between his thrusts. “You—God—I want—you’re so—feels so good...” he says as Derek rides him, Derek’s hard cock slapping against Scott’s stomach. Scott’s hands roam over Derek’s body, touching everywhere, sure and confident, knowing that Derek is his to touch however he likes. Stiles likes to spread himself around too, albeit a bit more spastically, but he knows that it’s for a different reason. Stiles wants to touch everywhere at once because his mind suggests fifteen places in a single thought then moves on to another twenty (two partners means twice the body parts which can be a conundrum). When Scott and Derek do it, though, it is all about the scent, about pack, about _belonging_. Stiles reaches down and lazily fondles himself, rolling his dick in his hand. There’s a pressure mounting inside of him but for right now he’s content. 

This thing between them, between him and Scott and Derek, is still new in that they’re still discovering parts of one another, secret dreams and long forgotten hopes, what one likes and another doesn’t, but it’s old enough that it’s settled. There once had been a time when they couldn’t stand to be separated. It had been after all of the suspicion and the jealousy and each one feeling left out before they’d finally figured out how to make sure that no one felt alone. God, what a night that had been. It’s a haze of sweat and skin to Stiles now, blurred by the copious amount of alcohol he’d downed, but he can still get off to the _feeling_ of that night, the giddiness and the sheer ecstasy. They’d thrown it all out there only to find a solution right in front of their faces. It’d been laced through with the lure of the forbidden, the feeling that they were doing something labeled wrong by society but yet so, so right. None of them had cared about much beyond each other.

Stiles remembers how Derek used to be. Shy, halting, afraid to ask for what he wanted, certain that he’d be rejected for even thinking of such things, convinced that he’d be left alone again. It had taken months, years before he’d finally believed. Stiles had worn him down with deliberate touches and a whole lot of the praise thing that makes Derek shiver and his cheeks go red, which is kind of cute and hot at the same time. Whenever he can, Stiles tells Derek how smart he is, how brave, how sweet, how beautiful and Derek looks at him like he’s a god. Stiles gets off on that about as much as anything else. Derek’s undisguised devotion to those he cares about is sexy as hell. Knowing that Stiles is one of the two people who get to see that look in its pure form? Mind-blowing.

Scott, of course, just had to use his whole general Scottness—that aggressively “Cool if I just curl up inside of you and stay there for the rest of your life, dude? Thanks” way that he has. At first, Derek had been befuddled by it and it had been hilarious—those blinks of confusion whenever Scott had intruded on Derek’s brooding loneliness, usually with Stiles in tow, and that little frown on his face as he tried to figure out what Scott’s game was—until he’d figured out that Scott wasn’t playing a game but was instead just being himself. Stiles isn’t surprised that Derek had fallen for Scott like he did. Hell, Stiles had done the same thing years before.

Sometimes, Stiles gets jealous of them. They’re werewolves. They speak their own little wolfy language and go off and do their own little wolfy things at times (Stiles assumes that they’re chewing on defenseless bunnies together or something, but only when he’s feeling upset about it). Sometimes Derek just needs it. Sometimes Scott does. Sometimes they both do. Every couple of months or so, they get a little crazy with it. Derek gets snappy or Scott gets rough and Stiles just steps back and tells them to take it outside. After that, there’s a few ways that it’s going to go down but no matter what, it will end the same. 

Some days, Derek makes a run for it, makes Scott chase him, and they disappear into the trees. They’ll come back bruised and bloody with Derek looking like he got curb-stomped by an Ent, bark and pine needles nearly embedded in his palms and knees. Scott will be hovering over him, vacillating between being a gentle, concerned lover, wanting to clean Derek up, and a smug, proud alpha, preening that his mate did so well. If Derek doesn’t make it to the trees or if he turns on Scott as soon as they get out of the door, Scott will just take him in the backyard. They’ll growl and snap and claw until finally Scott gets Derek underneath him and fucks him, all growly and rough and bleeding, pounding into him with sharp, driving thrusts while Derek whimpers and claws the grass. Stiles watches the end part and wonders if he’s more horrified or turned on. Or horrified that he’s turned on. Afterwards, Derek will let Scott clean him up, following him to the shower or letting Scott run a cloth over his bare skin. He’ll be all sleepy-eyed and sated, laughing quietly as Scott whispers to him, and that’s when Stiles gets really jealous.

It’ll eat him up if he lets it. So he doesn’t. He gives them a little time together like that before he’ll snug up between them, pushing into Scott’s long arms and Derek’s clinging hugs. He’ll kiss Scott soft and slow or brush his fingers through Derek’s hair and there they’ll stay. The next day, he’ll blow Scott on the couch before work or fuck him in the shower. Then he’ll go wake up Derek with gentle, lingering kisses, open him up and take him soft and sweet because Derek’s still healing up from the day before. It’s the only time he’s ever up before Derek because Derek usually runs in the morning.

Stiles needs his “bonding time” too. Speaking of that. Stiles drinks the rest of his coffee and sets the mug aside.

Derek freezes on top of Scott, his hands clench and his bottom lip quivering, and Stiles’s breath catches in his throat. Derek’s freaking gorgeous when he comes, the way his brows furl, how his mouth opens… Stiles wants to record it, watch it over and over again. Derek’s nearly always silent, just a small little hitch in his breathing and for a moment, he looks like he’s been cast in marble, like he’s an exhibit in one of those museums that Derek drags him and Scott to. “Beautiful,” Stiles murmurs. “You’re so beautiful like that, Derek.” Derek turns his head towards Stiles and opens his eyes. He’s hazy and unfocused and Stiles smirks. “Did Scott make you come?”

Derek nods. “You gonna make him come?” Stiles asks and Derek’s tongue traces his upper lip before he nods again. Derek likes the question game—almost as much as getting fucked.

“That is so hot,” Scott whispers. He curls his hands around Derek’s hips and looks up at Derek hopefully. Stiles can tell that he wants to just take, that he’s barely restrained, but he’s holding himself back because that’s who he is. When he’s not playing the alpha, that is. Stiles finds both sides equally appealing. Sometimes he wants kind and gentle Scott, the one who asks ‘can I?’ and ‘would you let me?’ That’s the Scott that treats you like something precious, that kisses you with every shred of love he’s ever felt. The Scott that screws you slow and calls it making love, or the Scott that squirms under you and begs ‘please.’ Other times, Stiles will take the alpha, the one that growls for you to turn over, that grips you until his fingers are like tattoos and embedded in your skin, the one that gives a command and expects it to be obeyed. That Scott’s rarer but just as hot.

Alpha Scott gets Derek all soft and subby in bed. When Scott flashes the red, Derek’s practically rolling over to show his belly. He bares his neck and spreads his legs and does whatever Scott tells him. It’s instinct with him. Scott’s alpha act does things to Stiles’s insides, makes him all thick and gooey. With Derek, though, it’s a need to please that is as hardwired as breathing. Outside of their bedroom, Derek will still question Scott's decisions when the need arises but at his core he wants to keep his accepted alpha happy. Stiles loves watching the contrast.

Scott groans and squirms. “Can I go, Princess?” His eyes plead for a yes. They’re hard to resist. Derek gives one more short nod then hisses as Scott starts thrusting into him again. His face contorts for a moment before slackening back into bliss.

“You’re so good for Scott,” Stiles says, his voice low and warm. Derek’s fingers curl on Scott’s skin in response. “You’re so good for me.” A whine dies in Derek’s throat, choked by his own gasping breath. “You’re doing so well, Princess.” Derek shudders as Stiles skims his hand lightly over Derek’s back.

“Yeah, he is,” Scott agrees and rubs at Derek’s chest.

The princess thing had started as a joke. Stiles had thrown it at Derek when Derek had told him to get his shoes off the table because Derek had such a thing for keeping everything _clean_ and Stiles apparently enjoyed poking dangerous creatures. Scott had laughed outright and Derek had forcefully removed Stiles’s shoes himself, muttering about how _Stiles_ was the princess if anything. The next day, Stiles tossed it out again because Derek was complaining about Stiles’s cold hands on his back and it just fit.

A week later, Scott had started using it, but it was different, because when Scott said it, it sounded like an endearment. He’d handed Derek an extra pillow during movie night, saying, “Here, Princess,” like it was no big deal. Stiles had gawped while Derek had gone red and muttered a “thanks.” After that, it had become a thing.

Derek loves it. He gets all soft and snuggly when Scott uses it. They’ll be in the kitchen cooking and Derek will need something out of the fridge. Scott will get it, call him Princess, and then get to press him up against the counter for kisses without Derek saying a word about the possibility of burning the food, which is what he does if Stiles tries that. Though that might be due to the fact that if the food does start to burn, Derek knows that Stiles will get it off the burner while Scott would stand there looking confused. There’s a reason Scott doesn’t cook much.

The first time that Stiles had used the name like Scott did, Derek had whirled on him and Stiles had thought for sure that he was about to get a beat down. Then Derek’s face had shifted and Stiles had been thrown into a chair so that Derek could climb on top of him and lick into his mouth. He’d writhed in Stiles’s lap like a stripper until Stiles had finally begged for mercy. Scott had found them like that a half hour later, both their dicks out and Stiles’s shirt a mess. He’d leveled a hurt look at the both of them. “You couldn’t wait for me?” Stiles and Derek had shared a glance and then blown him together, kissing around Scott’s cock while Scott panted and groaned and declared it the best blowjob ever.

Stiles runs his nose up Derek’s ear and into his hair, marking his scent on Derek even if he can’t smell it. It makes Derek hot when he does it, one of those werewolf things. It tells Derek that he belongs, that he’s welcome, that Stiles wants him, and it’s something that Stiles doesn’t think he can ever say enough. He wraps his hands around Derek’s middle and plasters himself to his back, cock riding the curve of Derek’s ass. Scott smiles at them both, all sunshine and flowers as he rubs Derek’s come into the skin of his stomach. Kinky fucker. Derek watches him do it and starts to shake.

“Oh, fuck…” Scott gasps, arching upward. He grits his teeth, neck straining, and it makes Stiles’s blood pound. Scott’s barely holding on. Stiles tilts Derek’s head towards him.

“You gonna come again?” Derek nods, his eyes squeezed shut. “Before Scott? When he’s been fucking you so nice?” Derek’s eyes pop open, a needy little whine echoing in his throat. He shakes his head no. “Good boy,” Stiles says and pulls Derek into a kiss. He cups a hand over Derek’s hip to still him, uses the kiss to gentle him. He runs his tongue along Derek’s lips and causally dips inside like Derek’s mouth belongs to him because as far as he’s concerned it does. A hand grips Stiles’s thigh, Scott’s or Derek’s Stiles doesn’t know; he’s too focused on the little soft sighs that Derek’s making as he pulls himself back from the cliff and the growl that’s rumbling in Scott’s throat. Derek leans back against him, trusting Stiles to hold him, and Stiles gives him another soft kiss. The hand on his thigh rubs the muscle, before repositioning to press against him and Derek both. Scott’s then.

The bed shifts and starts to move again, corresponding with a catch in Derek’s breath and his eyes sliding shut. “Is Scott fucking you?” Derek licks at Stiles’s lips, pushing inside, desperate for it. With a groan, Derek searches for more, but Stiles leans back and grins. “Do you like it, Princess?”

“Yes,” Derek whispers. Stiles rewards him with the kiss that he wants, then bends Derek forward, pushing him on top of Scott.

“You’d better tell him.”

Derek curls over Scott, rubbing their cheeks together before burying his face against Scott’s neck. “You feel good,” he slurs.

“So do you, Princess.” Scott pulls Derek into a wet kiss, sloppy enough for the sound to make Stiles throb. It’s up to him what he wants to do. Derek’s talented with his mouth, loves to use it, too. Stiles could straddle Scott’s head, let Scott suck his balls while Derek swallowed his dick. He could stay right where he is, behind Derek’s presented ass with Scott buried inside and rub himself against the curve until he shot across Derek’s back. 

He lets his fingers slide over Derek’s legs and down to Scott’s, teasing between Scott’s thighs until he spreads them. Stiles presses a finger against Scott’s hole. He could do that, too—fuck Scott while Scott fucks Derek. Stiles watches the slow slide of Scott’s cock as it pumps in and out of Derek and thinks about what he’d like this morning.

It’s tough to choose when the menu’s nearly endless.

He holds a hand next to Derek’s ass, fingers rubbing against Scott’s cock as it pumps in and out. He could, couldn’t he? They’ve never done that before. “You should thank him,” Stiles tells Derek. “For fucking you so good.”

“Thank you,” Derek mumbles obediently, spacing the words between kisses.

Stiles pushes a finger into Derek alongside Scott. “For?”

“Fucking me,” Derek breathes. “Thank you for fucking me.” He whines as Stiles forces another finger inside.

Scott goes still and breaks away from the latest kiss with a chuckle, his hands cupping Derek’s face. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“Something new.” Stiles wiggles his fingers. Derek gasps and Scott bites his lip. So far it’s a success.

Scott rubs against Derek’s cheek and nips at his ear. “You should see his face,” he rasps. He sinks his teeth into Derek again, this time on the neck and when he pulls away, there a mark that stays. It’ll be there for at least an hour and some part of Stiles is absolutely captivated by it. He likes it when Scott marks Derek, likes it when they mark him. He wishes that he and Derek could do the same to Scott but no matter what, they fade within minutes.

Derek rolls his hips back, demanding now that no one is moving inside of him. “Stiles.”

Stiles shakes himself awake and leans to grab the lube off the nightstand. “You should see _your_ face,” he retorts but it’s weak and distracted at best. Scott ignores him and goes back to kissing Derek, fingers combing through Derek’s hair.

Stiles sucks a mark onto Derek’s back. It immediately starts to fade and he sighs. Oh well. He extracts his fingers, shushing Derek when he protests. “Easy, Princess. I want to try something.” He drizzles lube over his fingers and places them back by Derek’s ass, teasing at the rim. He pushes his two fingers back in alongside Scott’s cock, smiling at how easily Derek takes them. He adds a third and Derek jerks his head up with a gasp. It’s satisfying. “I want to see if you can take both of us,” Stiles says. “Me and Scott. See if you can get both of us inside you.” Stiles bends to whisper in Derek’s ear. “Would you like to try that?” Derek moans and furiously nods his head.

Even though Derek’s all for it, Scott is staring at Stiles wide-eyed. “Is that even possible?”

Chuckling, Stiles adds more lube. “I’ve seen it done.”

“In _porn_ ,” Scott hisses.

Stiles scoffs. “Like you two weren’t made for porn.” A few films and they’d all be rich. With that blissed out face Derek gets when he gets fucked and Scott’s boy-next-door smile plus the insane number of abdominal muscles they have between them, they’d be rated top ten on all the websites. Probably win an award.

“In case you haven’t noticed, dude, you’re not exactly a slouch.” Scott illustrates his words by moving his hand to Stiles’s dick and Stiles inhales sharply as Scott squeezes. “That’s a whole lot of dick.”

“So—”

“ _Do it already_ ,” Derek grinds out. He’s got his face buried against Scott’s shoulder, but he can’t hide the pink tips of his ears. Stiles coos at him and rubs his back.

“I think Princess wants us to do it.” Unable to help himself, Stiles teases a little, flexing his fingers inside of Derek and toying with the idea of putting in a fourth. 

“ _Yes_.” Derek growls and grips the sheets between his fists. Stiles can’t see his face, but he’s got the feeling that Derek’s already showing fang. Stiles’s stomach flips. 

Scott nuzzles him, hands sliding down Derek’s arms. “Don’t pop claws.” Derek nods, being obedient for his alpha, and visibly tries to rein himself back in. Scott rumbles approvingly and licks Derek’s cheek.

Stiles is done. So fucking done. He takes a careful breath to steady himself because the little show happening in front of him has him about ready to pop. There’s probably something wrong with him that it gets him hot when either Scott or Derek are on the verge of wolfing out, some kind of survival instinct he’s missing or something. Most people see claws and think ‘run!’ He just thinks of how hot they are when they’re buried in a headboard. Stiles inches closer and presses the tip of his cock against Derek’s rim, smearing precome over it and Scott’s dick.

Under him, Derek’s back to his little whines and growls, while Scott whispers in his ear, fingers rubbing over Derek’s upper arms. Stiles pulls his fingers out and grips himself and slowly pushes himself into Derek’s already stretched hole.

“Oh, _fuck_ , dude,” Scott says, his voice little more than a choked off gasp. Stiles can’t say that he disagrees. Derek is _tight_. So fucking tight because he’s already stuffed full and here Stiles is trying to get more in. Except that Derek’s taking him so easy, opening wider the deeper in he goes. It’s starting to short-circuit Stiles’s brain. He’s pressed tight against Scott, surrounded by Derek’s heat, and Derek’s panting and whimpering like it’s the best damn thing that he’s ever felt.

Stiles pushes as far in as he can get, tilting his hips to accommodate the angle he’s been forced into and takes a moment to breathe. Being inside Derek with Scott makes him feel like somehow they’ve merged, that it’s not just Stiles and not just Scott but instead Stiles and Scott and they’re going to fuck Derek together. Stiles isn’t terribly religious but he thinks he’s seeing God. Okay, not religious at all because that was probably blasphemous and Stiles can’t find it in him to give a fuck. Stiles moans, his vision blurring. “Fuck,” he whispers, bending over Derek’s back. “Oh, fuck fuck fuck…” His fingers skate along Scott and Derek’s sides, looking for a ground. All he finds is the feeling that maybe he could fly.

“God, Derek, your _ass_. Your ass is amazing. _Christ_. Have I ever told you that? Told you how perfect your goddamned ass is, Princess?” He’s stuck because if he moves, he’s going to come, so his mouth has to do the moving for him. “Fuck, Scott, I can feel you. Oh, God, I can feel you. You’re so hot. You’re both so hot.” He sprawls over Derek’s back and rubs his cheek against his skin. If Derek ever wants to leave the bed, he’s going to have to send Scott and him an eviction notice because Stiles is pretty sure that he and Scott are staying where they are permanently. Stiles has found heaven. Life just doesn’t get any better.

Well, until Scott begins to thrust. Trust Scott to find a way to even make perfect better. They’re just little rolls of his hips because Scott doesn’t have the leverage to do much else but everything feels like a 10 on the Richter scale at the moment, no matter how small. Stiles thrusts too, longer, deeper, because he can and rides out Derek’s writhing, actually feels his overwhelmed sob.

Scott shouts and for half a second, Stiles thinks that maybe he came, but, no, because he keeps going. Stiles paws at Scott, whatever parts he can reach, shoulders, arms, face. He hopes that it’s soothing but he can’t really tell. The goddamned world is starting to shake apart. Scott’s straining, arching, and Derek’s nothing but a long continuous whine and tremors.

Stiles feels it when Scott actually does come, a steady throb against his dick as Scott pumps Derek full. It makes Derek wetter, hotter, and Stiles can’t help the way his hips start to speed up. It’s sheer instinct driving him.

Somewhere along the way, Scott slips out, leaving Stiles alone plunging into Derek’s stretched out hole. He feels Scott’s hands grab at him, hears Derek’s subvocal sounds, tastes the sweat between them. Derek mewls—fucking _mewls_ —and tightens. Then he collapses down on top of Scott and stays there, panting against Scott’s neck. Stiles makes it two, three more thrusts before he’s groaning and convulsing overtop of them.

For a moment, he just lies there, too wrung out to do much else and Scott and Derek evidently feeling the same way. He has a brief moment of being glad that he’s not on the bottom under a few hundred pounds of werewolf, but he also thinks that being in the middle might be good and that maybe he’s a little jealous of Derek at the moment. Also, his front side feels like he’s spooning a furnace—which he kind of is.

After a little while, he becomes aware of the fact that Derek and Scott are moving again, mainly just little strokes of Scott’s hands but there’s also little wet sounds and the bobbing of Derek’s head. Stiles groans and shifts a little, not really moving away but instead leaning to the left. He sees the little pink flick of Derek’s tongue and the small pool of red on Scott’s skin and he blinks at it for a moment before it finally hits him that maybe he should be worried about this. “What the hell happened?” His words slur together a bit but mostly they come out clear.

Scott laughs, nonchalant about the _bloody wound_ on his chest as only a werewolf can be. “Love bite,” he says. 

Some fucking love bite. “No, pretty sure that’s a murder bite.” There’s enough blood left on Scott that for anyone else, it might have meant a trip to the hospital.

Derek rumbles, soundly weirdly distressed until Scott strokes his cheek. “Derek got excited,” Scott says.

So he popped a little fang and bit down, Stiles thinks, filling in the rest. Of course. _Werewolves_. And Scott’s smiling like it’s the best thing in the world. “Okay,” Stiles says because whatever. At least the sheets are already red. He pulls himself out, feeling a little regret at having to leave the wet heat behind. Derek makes a soft noise, so Stiles gives him a little pat and then throws himself down next to them. Then his brain spins to another thought. “Wait. Is that a—is that a _mating_ bite?”

Derek’s eyes flick over to him, basically confirming it with just a look even as his sits up and lies outright. “No.”

“No?” Stiles quirks an eyebrow.

“No?” Scott looks crushed.

Derek huffs. He crosses his arms, uncrosses them, then lets his fingers flitter in the air for a moment before he finally decides that, yes, he’s going to have to use his words. It’s a fucking miracle. “I’ve given you mating bites before,” he says.

Scott rubs at the smooth skin where the bite was, smearing around the left over blood. “Wasn’t that one?”

Derek flushes. _Flushes_. Stiles gets to his knees. Oh, this is interesting. “Not exactly?” Derek hedges. “Look, it’s—” What he intended to finish that sentence with, Stiles doesn’t know, because he suddenly bails, diving off the bed. Stiles catches his wrist. Like Hell he’s letting Derek get away that easy.

“What do you mean not exactly?” he asks. Derek steps backward but he’s not serious about escaping because he doesn’t bother breaking Stiles’s grip. Stiles smiles. He figured out this particular game of Derek’s a long time ago, the ‘I want to tell, please make me and save me from my own verbal constipation.’ He pulls Derek back in, making him bump against the bed. Scott joins them, an arm wrapping around Derek’s waist to make sure that he can’t go anywhere. In some strange way, that relaxes Derek. His shoulders drop and the previous tension dissipates. Stiles curls an arm around Derek’s other side and places a hand against his chest. “What do you mean not exactly?” he repeats.

“It’s…” Derek drops his eyes to Scott’s chest. Scott and Stiles wait him out. “More serious,” he finally whispers.

“More serious?” Scott asks, wrinkling his brow.

Stiles laughs. “Dude! Did you just werewolf marry him?” He pauses. “You’re not going to have to do the same thing to me, are you? Because, um, let me just remind you here, fragile human? Doesn’t heal nearly as fast?” He eyes the blood on Scott’s chest. He has no idea how big the wound actually was but it must have been a pretty sizeable chunk. “I mean, I love you and all, but that looks like a trip to the hospital to me.”

“What? I—no, I—I wouldn’t—wait, what?” Derek looks like he can’t decide on what he wants to say, too many options and too few words.

“We’re married?” Scott says, busting into Derek’s stuttering. Derek stares at him. “I have to tell my mom.”

“No,” Derek says, flushing bright red again.

Scott frowns. “I can’t tell my mom?”

“She’s you’re mom-in-law, now,” Stiles tosses in.

“Yeah!” Scott’s face crumples into the sad puppy dog look that he’s got _down_. “Why don’t you want to tell my mom?”

“Because we’re not married!” Derek gives up and buries his face in his hands.

“We’re not?” Scott turns the puppy dog look on Stiles. 

Stiles holds up his hands in surrender. Save him from the puppy dog. He was a sucker for it every damn time. “Don’t look at me, dude. It’s your werewolf wedding.”

“If I’m getting married, I’m marrying both you _and_ Derek.” Scott sets his jaw. “And we’re telling my mom.”

Derek sighs and drops his head against Stiles’s shoulder. “Wolves don’t get married,” he mumbles.

Stiles pats his head. “Werewolves do, though, right?” Derek nodded. “So…” Stiles’s brain spun in park for a minute before venturing forward. “Lifetime commitment?”

“Something like that,” Derek tells Stiles’s shoulder.

“Oh.” Stiles frowns. “Do I have to bite you?” Derek snorts and shakes his head. “Good. Because I don’t think I’d get too far.” He looks from the top of Derek’s head to Scott. “Rings are fine for us fragile human types?”

At ‘rings’, Derek jerks back up straight and stares at Stiles. “You…”

“Want a ring? Hell yes. I mean, Scott can bite you, but I want a ring. No biting the Stiles!” Stiles shakes a finger at Derek. Just in case, he does the same to Scott who looks vaguely offended.

“I’m happy with rings,” Scott says. “Why wouldn’t I be happy with rings?” 

It’s then that Stiles realizes that Derek’s swallowing hard and his eyes are suspiciously shiny. Scott snaps his attention back to Derek and pulls him forward, turning him to lie down on the bed and settling down on top of him. Stiles curls into Derek’s other side and sighs contentedly while Derek rubs circles on his back. If there happen to be a few sniffles going on to his left, well, then, no one really needs to know.

Of course, Stiles does have that apparent addiction to poking dangerous creatures. He snickers. “Dude, Princess, you just proposed because of an orgasm. A really _awesome_ orgasm—”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek and Scott say in perfect unison. A small smile tugs at Derek’s lips, though, so Stiles considers it a successful mission. He tucks himself back in against Derek.

Out of nowhere, a yawn cracks his jaw and Stiles decides to let himself go with it, feeling sleep start to settle back in. In a few hours, they’re totally hitting the pool and then maybe trying out that wall that’s really a TV, _definitely_ drinking some more of that coffee, but, at the moment, he can’t think of any place he’d rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a wham-bam but then it turned into this. I don't even know. The "princess" thing came from [this Tumblr post](http://pale-silver-comb.tumblr.com/post/123633004452/ok-emma-time-for-possibly-the-weirdest-headcanon) even though that's Sterek and this is McHaleinski. Sorry, not sorry. I had a thing.


End file.
